champions.”
He then presented players with a formula for success that oozed goofiness: PA + E = P.
Translation: Positive attitude plus effort equals performance.
“It wasn’t a good start,” says Todd Fowler, a running back who had played under Landry for four seasons. “Whereas Coach Landry treated you like a man, Jimmy stormed in there with this fire-and-brimstone approach, running all over the place like a high school kid.”
Under Johnson, workouts lasted interminably. Weight work was mandatory and excessive. “I don’t blame Jimmy for his approach, because we had a lot of young guys who needed molding,” says Rafferty, who was then a thirty-five-year-old center. “But for me to go out and work three hours on Wednesday, three hours on Thursday, three hours on Friday, and then have fresh legs Sunday, well, I couldn’t do it.”
Instead of confronting players about their shortcomings or work habits, Johnson often dropped hints to reporters, hoping an uncomfortable headline might evoke an inspired performance. Instead of calmly advising or encouraging, Johnson would jump up and down on the field, screaming for the entire state of California to hear. Early in camp kicker Shaun Burdick missed an imaginary “game-winning” field goal from 63 yards. Johnson bolted toward the line of scrimage and called lineman Dan Sileo— who wasn’t even on the field —offside. He had Burdick take the kick again, this time from 58 yards. When hemade it, Johnson exploded with glee. “Everything is a habit!” Johnson said. “The more you can reinforce winning, the more you get in the habit of winning!”
Rookies heard this and nodded.
Veterans heard this and rolled their eyes.
Making matters worse was Johnson’s soft spot for former Hurricanes. Among the eighty-six players in camp, five had played for Johnson at Miami. Two seconds after cursing out a rookie from Syracuse or Pittsburgh, Johnson would yuk it up with Randy Shannon, a former Hurricane linebacker short on skills but long on pedigree. “Every day it seemed like Johnson was bringing in another one of his guys,” says Charvez Foger, an eighth-round draft pick from Nevada-Reno. “It was a bad sign for someone like me.”
Fearful of young players latching on to negativity, Johnson fired quickly. When linebacker Steve DeOssie screamed at one of the assistant coaches, he was immediately traded. When defensive tackle Kevin Brooks refused to report to minicamp, he was traded too. Fifth-round draft choice Keith Jennings reported to camp twenty pounds overweight and was deemed unwelcome. “He doesn’t fit into our plans,” Johnson said. Receiver Ray Alexander was called for delay of game after spiking the ball in an exhibition; “Ray,” Johnson coolly informed the media afterward, “isn’t with us anymore.”
“Jimmy was a rah-rah guy and his coaches were idiots,” says Jeff Rohrer, a veteran linebacker. “I was used to being coached by Hall of Famers who had played in the NFL. But Jimmy and his guys didn’t know the game the way the guys who coached me before them did. And to compare them to [Landry assistant] Ernie Stautner? Are you kidding me? Are you friggin’ kidding me? C’mon. There was no comparison .”
Despite mounting hostility amongst veteran Cowboys and a roster long on ineptitude, Johnson—who added fourteen new players and pledged to rid himself of as many listless holdovers as humanly possible—was convinced his team would compete. “All he cared about was winning,” says one Cowboy. “When I was with the Redskins [coach]Joe Gibbs would say, ‘OK, fellas, don’t mess with street drugs or steroids, because that’s not how we do things here.’ Jimmy, on the other hand, would say, ‘Don’t mess with street drugs or steroids, because the drug test is in a week and you don’t wanna get caught.’ It was obvious Jimmy lacked some character in his pursuit of greatness.”
In April, after more than twenty years of marriage,
He then presented players with a formula for success that oozed goofiness: PA + E = P.
Translation: Positive attitude plus effort equals performance.
“It wasn’t a good start,” says Todd Fowler, a running back who had played under Landry for four seasons. “Whereas Coach Landry treated you like a man, Jimmy stormed in there with this fire-and-brimstone approach, running all over the place like a high school kid.”
Under Johnson, workouts lasted interminably. Weight work was mandatory and excessive. “I don’t blame Jimmy for his approach, because we had a lot of young guys who needed molding,” says Rafferty, who was then a thirty-five-year-old center. “But for me to go out and work three hours on Wednesday, three hours on Thursday, three hours on Friday, and then have fresh legs Sunday, well, I couldn’t do it.”
Instead of confronting players about their shortcomings or work habits, Johnson often dropped hints to reporters, hoping an uncomfortable headline might evoke an inspired performance. Instead of calmly advising or encouraging, Johnson would jump up and down on the field, screaming for the entire state of California to hear. Early in camp kicker Shaun Burdick missed an imaginary “game-winning” field goal from 63 yards. Johnson bolted toward the line of scrimage and called lineman Dan Sileo— who wasn’t even on the field —offside. He had Burdick take the kick again, this time from 58 yards. When hemade it, Johnson exploded with glee. “Everything is a habit!” Johnson said. “The more you can reinforce winning, the more you get in the habit of winning!”
Rookies heard this and nodded.
Veterans heard this and rolled their eyes.
Making matters worse was Johnson’s soft spot for former Hurricanes. Among the eighty-six players in camp, five had played for Johnson at Miami. Two seconds after cursing out a rookie from Syracuse or Pittsburgh, Johnson would yuk it up with Randy Shannon, a former Hurricane linebacker short on skills but long on pedigree. “Every day it seemed like Johnson was bringing in another one of his guys,” says Charvez Foger, an eighth-round draft pick from Nevada-Reno. “It was a bad sign for someone like me.”
Fearful of young players latching on to negativity, Johnson fired quickly. When linebacker Steve DeOssie screamed at one of the assistant coaches, he was immediately traded. When defensive tackle Kevin Brooks refused to report to minicamp, he was traded too. Fifth-round draft choice Keith Jennings reported to camp twenty pounds overweight and was deemed unwelcome. “He doesn’t fit into our plans,” Johnson said. Receiver Ray Alexander was called for delay of game after spiking the ball in an exhibition; “Ray,” Johnson coolly informed the media afterward, “isn’t with us anymore.”
“Jimmy was a rah-rah guy and his coaches were idiots,” says Jeff Rohrer, a veteran linebacker. “I was used to being coached by Hall of Famers who had played in the NFL. But Jimmy and his guys didn’t know the game the way the guys who coached me before them did. And to compare them to [Landry assistant] Ernie Stautner? Are you kidding me? Are you friggin’ kidding me? C’mon. There was no comparison .”
Despite mounting hostility amongst veteran Cowboys and a roster long on ineptitude, Johnson—who added fourteen new players and pledged to rid himself of as many listless holdovers as humanly possible—was convinced his team would compete. “All he cared about was winning,” says one Cowboy. “When I was with the Redskins [coach]Joe Gibbs would say, ‘OK, fellas, don’t mess with street drugs or steroids, because that’s not how we do things here.’ Jimmy, on the other hand, would say, ‘Don’t mess with street drugs or steroids, because the drug test is in a week and you don’t wanna get caught.’ It was obvious Jimmy lacked some character in his pursuit of greatness.”
In April, after more than twenty years of marriage,
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